Hot Night. Shannon McKenna
He was an Alex. I didn’t like being Alex Jr., so I bullied everybody into calling me Zan.”
She had no business being fluttery. He’d saved her from Edgar, and for that she was grateful, but he was still a black-leather-wearing über-alpha wolf, like all the bad news boyfriends in her checkered past.
He probably ate girls like her for breakfast. They all did. They all had. She had no intention of being eaten for breakfast, ever again.
Her naughty brain took that thought, twirled it around and had a party with it. She rummaged for her keys, remembered why he was there, and blushed. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m kind of rattled.”
“Of course you are.” The locksmith knelt, pulling a leather pouch from one of his pockets. He pulled out a couple of metal tools and gave her a quick, assessing glance. “You still look pretty wobbly.” He took her hand and placed it on his broad shoulder. “Lean on me.”
Her fingers dug into his shoulder through the thick leather. She hadn’t had anybody to lean on for so long.
She barely noticed what he did to her lock. It clicked open after a few seconds. He made a courtly gesture for her to enter. She lifted her hand away and walked in, wishing it had taken longer.
Seconds ticked by. She flipped the light on to break the spell. “Come on in.” Her voice was pitched way too high. “I hope a check is OK.”
“A check is fine.” He stepped into her kitchen, eyes scanning the place with discreet curiosity. Sheba padded daintily over to his feet, sniffed his boots, and began to weave sinuously around his ankles.
Abby was startled. Sheba despised strangers, and she clawed strips out of the hands of anyone presumptuous enough to pick her up.
The locksmith picked her up.
“Careful,” Abby warned. “She’s twitchy. Don’t let her scratch you.”
“Oh, she won’t. Cats love me.” He stroked Sheba’s downy back.
“Really?” she said wistfully. Her last would-be boyfriend had been violently allergic to Sheba. The affair had ended after that panicked trip to the emergency room. Cortisone shots really killed the mood.
“Never met a cat who didn’t.” Sheba purred and flung her head back over his wrist, baring her throat with sluttish kitty abandon.
Abby dragged her eyes away from the spectacle with some effort. “Thank you, by the way,” she said.
He shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
“No, not for the lockout. I meant for what you did with Edgar.”
He looked uncomfortable. “No big deal. Don’t thank me for that.”
“Too late,” she said. “Thanks anyway. It’s a huge big deal to me.”
He gave her a dismissive nod, followed by a long silence fraught with embarrassment. “I, uh, have to pay you,” she repeated.
“Yeah,” he agreed, rubbing expertly behind Sheba’s ears.
“What’s your fee?” she asked. “And is a check OK?”
He looked faintly amused. “You asked me that before.”
Abby discreetly tugged her neckline higher. “Did you answer?”
“Yes.” His deep voice was as soft as silk. “I said a check is fine.”
She let out her breath slowly. “So what’s your fee?” she repeated.
“Does your check have your phone number on it?” He stroked Sheba’s fluffy belly. Her raucous purring seemed deafening.
Abby checked to make sure her hair covered her cleavage. “I usually don’t—that is, I prefer—I mean, what for?”
“So I can ask you out.” His playful dimple seemed out of place in that lean, dangerous face.
Her toes curled inside her pumps. A rush of excitement tightened her chest. “I thought this was a…a business transaction.”
“It is. I just happened to ask for your number in the middle of it.”
“Don’t take this personally, but it’s been a bad night,” she said.
He nodded. “Of course. That’s why I’m just getting your number, for now. I’ll wait a decent interval before I call and ask you out.”
Abby tugged her skirt over her thighs. “What’s a decent interval?”
“Hadn’t thought about it yet,” he said. “A week? A couple days? Twelve hours? What do you think would be a decent interval?”
“Let’s stick to business,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”
He looked thoughtful. Sheba butted his hand with her fuzzy head. He stroked her obligingly. “That depends,” he said.
“On what?” she demanded.
“On the client. If the dickwad in the Porsche had called me—what was his name? Edward? Edmund?”
“Oh. Edgar.”
“If it were Edgar, I’d jack up the price as much as my conscience allows, which is a lot. Then I’d make him pay before I opened the door.”
Abby was suspicious of that teasing dimple. “And why is that?”
He shrugged. “He could afford it. Plus, he’d been driving under the influence, which pisses me off.”
“I’m not drunk,” she said. “How do you know I wasn’t driving?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like that meathead would ever let a girl drive his eighty-thousand-dollar penis substitute.”
She shook with nervous giggles. “You have a point. I tried to get him to let me drive. The harder I tried, the faster he went.”
“Dickhead,” Zan commented. “Truth is, I wouldn’t have come at all if I hadn’t liked your voice so much. I just had to see who owned that sexy Southern drawl. Where are you from, anyway?”
Abby tried three times before she could make any sound come out of her throat. “Atlanta. But that’s, ah, irrelevant. And inappropriate.”
“Oh, don’t mind me.” His voice was silky. “I’m just stalling.”
“I see that.” She grabbed her checkbook. “What do I owe you?”
“But as soon as you write that check, I’ll have to go away.” His fingers dug into the thick fur of Sheba’s belly. Her tail lashed wildly.
Abby wrenched her gaze away from the spectacle. “Stop stalling and tell me how much I owe you, Mr., er…”
“Duncan. Call me Zan.” He pulled out a card and laid it on her counter. “I could cut you a deal. I always cut my friends a deal.”
Abby’s heart thudded heavily. It was a reaction to the adrenaline, she told herself. Not to the idea of being his, ah…friend.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m really obligated to you already,” she said. “Please, just tell me your fee. It’s late.”
His eyebrows lifted. “No phone number?”
“No.” She poised the pen over the check.
He looked wistful. “OK. Make it for a hundred and twenty, then.”
Abby slapped the pen onto the counter. “That’s highway robbery!”
He blinked. “At least I didn’t ask you to pay me in advance.”
“You couldn’t have! My checkbook was locked inside!”
“I never said I wasn’t practical.” His eyes gleamed. Sheba had abandoned herself, fluffy